5
by heyhellohowdy
Summary: I'm so fuckin sorry pls dont read this this isnt really about 100% wolf or w/e i put this under so DONT READ


I walk into a short corridor of the building. From the light-colored walls, velvet red curtains hang that serve no actual purpose than decoration. _Tap, tap, tap. _My feet make small noises as they hit the marble floors. My pocket feels as if it will explode from all the money the company I work for gave me. Roman columns are mounted into the walls so only half of the columns show. The butler walks behind me with his hands placed behind his back. Boy, this place has class.

I make it to the end of corridor where large, light brown doors with patterns incrusted with gold stand. Behind these doors is the most important mission of my life, so be careful. Get as much information as possible, and for God's sake, don't spill any beans. My job, scratch that, my _life_ is at stake here. Screw up, and it's all over.

The butler gets in front of me and opens the door with a hand directing me to enter.

"Thank you," I say to the butler as I enter the room.

Pale walls make out the room, with many windows and morals covering it like polka dots. I take a slight look out one window and see the moon shining in the sky with a slight hazy mist surrounding it. From the corner of my eye, the floor looks gray. People take up almost all the space in the room, and because of this, I can't hear a blasted thought. Tables that hold a great amount of food border the room. I walk up to one of them to see the selection, but almost all the food was unknown to me and there's no way in hell I'm ever going to sample any of it. However, the tables did include fine wine, so I helped myself to a glass. I move the cup in a circular motion, to inspect just how good this wine this is. I always found this to be childish in a way: it looks as if you're playing with your drink, but nobody seems to care. I sniff the wine and it smells a bit funky, but I can't place my finger on what the smell exactly is. Would anyone notice if I put it back on the table and run away? No, but I must stick to my manners. I sip it anyway and it tastes a lot better than I expected it to, almost like strawberries and raisins. Not as bad as you may think. Bleh! But what is this atrocious aftertaste?! Jeez, so bitter! I guess I have to live with it, though. Fucking manners. God damn. Who ever made this wine needs to know it sucks balls. Whatever, I'll just hold it for the rest of the night.

I walk around the room and look at all the people, most of whom are having conversations. I also take a look at the stage. The band is playing Waltz by Johannes Brahms. Are they _trying _to make us fall asleep? I thought this was a party. No matter. Partying isn't my objective for tonight. Which reminds me, I should really be getting back to the mission. Such tomfoolery as this is unacceptable.

I wonder around the room again, but this time searching for Quentin G. Baldwin. I've heard a little about him and his usual appearance. He has stringy, gray hair that sticks out in practically every direction . He has a mustache that is mostly gray, but there are spots of black in it, too. He has a very circular head with a few sun spots on his face. He is about the average height for a man. He is somewhat muscular, but no Neanderthal. He is a little overweight and is a very slow runner. Sources say he's wearing a light brown jacket with light brown pants and black shoes tonight. This is going to be a bit harder that I thought.

While searching for Baldwin, I hear someone call, "Bartram, is that you?" I turn around and I see a fellow probably a couple ages older than I, inspecting me like a zoo animal. "By Jones, it _is_ you!"

"Good evening," I say as I shake his hand. I pray to God that this won't end badly. "Nice to see you again."

"And the same to you," the young man says. "How have you been lately?"

"Just fine. And you?"

He laughs and sighs at the same time. "My, my. Quite eventful. My father's business is getting more and more popular as the days go on and he is always asking me when I'm going to inherit the company. But I don't think I'm ready for that kind of responsibility, yet. By the way, did you ever hear about how Charles officially announced that he and Madeline will be seeing each other?"

"Really? Hm, this doesn't surprise me. I knew he would one day start dating her. It was obvious."

" Oh? Well, I suppose after taking into account their behavioral patterns around each other... At any rate, I really should be going. It was nice conversing with you, Bartram," said the man as he tipped his hat.

"Okay, but before you go, do you know where Quentin G. Baldwin is?"

"Bartram, just because he is my grandfather does not mean I keep constant track of his every move. I am sorry, but I do not know for sure. He is usually in the side lounge if you want to search there."

"Side lounge?"

"Good heavens, you forget where it is every time. It is located in that corner," he said as he pointed toward the other side of the room. "And it is behind the door with the silver handles. I can escort you, if you'd like me to."

"That won't be necessary, thank you. But, thanks for the information. I guess this good bye, then."

"Until next time, Bartram," said the man who is apparently the grandson of Quentin G. Baldwin as he shook my hand and walked away.

God. Bartram, what a stupid alias name. What kind of sick parents would name their kid Bartram?

The side lounge, okay. I walk to the side lounge door and it doesn't take much time at all. I look at the door handles and how they reflect myself in a distorted fashion. Ha ha, door handles, you never disappoint. I turn the handle and open the door.

Smooth jazz immediately attacks my ears and flows throughout the room, causing everyone to look my way. I quickly move into the side lounge and close the door. Then, I take a good, long look at the place. The walls are covered in dark red velvet and occasionally have portraits of celebrities from the black and white era mounted onto the wall. The floors are carpeted in a black material that looks a bit trashy. In the back stands a bar with black stools and a brown, shiny table. The background where the drinks are held light up with a light blue color. The bar tender looks kind of tired and annoyed, but he still maintains proper posture and an active position. There's a two foot tall stage next to the bar with a band on top of it playing "Sing, Sing, Sing." In front of the stage, there is a dance floor that is made of tile instead of carpet. In front of the bar, there are four purple couches, each facing each other with a brown coffee table in the middle that holds a vase full of flowers. There are a flight of stairs to the right of the lounge, but those areas are restricted. The place is pretty crowded with people, almost as much as the main room. Compared to the other room though, this lounge is the quality of a public port-a-potty.

I walk over to the bar and take a seat where ever I can. With all the people here, there isn't much space. I'm pretty sure I got the last open seat. A fat man with a baseball hat and a stained t-shirt sits next to me. He's drinking a mug of beer and the foam is getting all over his unshaved beard. How did he even get in here with all those dress code violations? A younger gentleman sits on the other side of me chugging all the cheap beer he can hold as friends around him cheer him on. I try my best to keep my space from both of them.

"What will it be?" asked the bar tender as he walked up to me.

"I'll have... uh... Hell, have any Kauffman?" I asked.

"Kauffman? Boy, I haven't heard that name in a long time. I think I have some, though," he said as he walked to the stand behind him and took out a bottle. He then walked over to me and showed me the bottle. "This good?"

"Yeah," I said. The bar tender walks off to make drinks and take people's orders.

I watch people in the lounge, hoping I would see one in a light brown suit with an Einstein hairdo. Soon enough, the bar tender came back with a glass of clear liquid with an olive in it. I reach into my pocket and grab the first sheet I feel. I pull out five $100 bills and give it to the bar tender. For the first time this evening, the bar tender doesn't look tired or annoyed, but astonished.

"Keep the change," I said softly as I stood up from the bar stool and walked away with my drink. I walk over towards a purple loveseat in the circle of couches. It's full, but sitting down is not what I'm coming over to do.

"Excuse me," I said to the group of people sitting on the purple loveseat. "I don't mean to interrupt, but have any of you Quentin G. Baldwin?"

"Who's that?" asked one of the boys on the couch.

"He's wearing a light brown suit and has gray hair and a gray mustache," I told. But they shake their heads. I thank them anyway, walk away, and sit down on a couch. Strong fumes of bourbon escape out of the couch when I sat down on it. I stand up and walk five meters away from the couch to avoid the awful smell.

I take my first sip of vodka. And it tastes like heaven. I want to continue drinking it, but it's better if I make it last. The band just finished "Sing, Sing, Sing" and is now starting to play "Save the Last Dance for Me."


End file.
